The Tree of Shame

That tree at Deals Gap — the one draped in broken, twisted, painted motorcycle parts — that's the Tree of Shame, and it is the truest monument on this whole road. Let me tell you what it is.

For decades now, when a rider goes down on the Dragon and lives to tell it, the tradition is to bring a piece of the wreckage — a busted mirror, a cracked fairing, a bent lever, a whole mangled fender — sign it, date it, and hang it on that tree. Car parts, too, sometimes. So it's grown into this glittering, grim chandelier of other people's bad days, swaying in the mountain wind, dozens and dozens of near-misses and hard lessons all hung up together.

It sounds morbid, and it is, a little. But it's also a warning you can see and touch — every one of those parts belonged to somebody who thought they had this road figured out, right up until they didn't. Folks come from around the world to look at it and get their picture taken, and if they've got any sense, to feel a cold little tap on the shoulder before they ride.

So here's the whole point of the Tree of Shame, and I mean it kindly: come see it, take your photo — but do everything in your power to never, ever donate to it. Keep your parts on your bike. Keep it in your lane. That's the only souvenir worth taking off the Dragon: the story of the ride, and all your pieces still bolted together.